


Marking it down to learning

by godsdaisiechain (preux)



Series: Warriors [4]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Chess, Chess Metaphors, Donuts, First Love, Honeymoon, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mobsters, Pre-Canon, Smuggling, Tim Hortons, Training, art of war - Freeform, warriors - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 11:20:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8531065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preux/pseuds/godsdaisiechain
Summary: "They read to each other about ancient times of war and recognized themselves as denizens of the days when gods and heroes walked among mortal men."After Moretti tried to kill Carl Elias, and he and Anthony run away to make plans and learn the ropes of organized crime.  Pre-canon.  Spoiler-y for season 4.For the Fan Flashworks "keeping score" challenge





	1. Too good to last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carl and Anthony have a honeymoon of sorts.

They left early in the morning, gravel crunching under the wheels in the dim pre-dawn light.  Nothing was open except a truck stop.  No one looked twice at two boys slumming with their battered books.  College kids who could go back to their middle-class homes whenever they wanted. Young men who would have been captains of industry had they been born in different circumstances.  But the world kept score and the bastard son of a mobster and a parricide started several marks down.  
  
In Montreal, they sipped milky coffee from huge mugs and ordered pastries in French, listening respectfully when people corrected their accents, which sounded too Italian.  They hadn’t intended to stay, but everyone thought they were students, and in a couple of weeks, they could speak French well enough to pass for Italians there to study.    
  
They rented a tiny flat, two bedrooms plus a kitchen, where they could cook for each other, play chess, and read books about war and strategy and philosophy. A place where they didn’t have to worry about nosy hotel clerks finding their handguns. They found work in various places, for a day or two at a time at first, unloading trucks, or in local groceries, bookstores, tobacconists. Jobs where they could observe people and castoffs were plentiful and useful.  Where they didn't have to kill or hurt anyone while they made their plans.  
  
Anthony had never lived in a nice place. He didn’t have words to describe the feelings when he came back one evening to find that Carl had put up curtains and bought real silverware and slightly chipped candlesticks at an antique store. Carl watched him palm the curtains, weigh the mismatched cutlery in his hand. Caught the expression in those dark eyes as he glanced up and saw Carl watching him.  Carl felt his entire body tingle as Anthony set down a fork, then crossed the room to kiss his forehead and each of his eyelids and then his lips.  
  
Their days began and ended in each other, two young men in love for the first time. Also for the first time in their lives, those days were peaceful.  No one yelled at them.  No one hit them. No one kept score. And every night, they fell asleep to soft words of affectionate friendship, then slept curled together, knowing they would wake to a warm smile and another day of easy companionship.     
  
They both knew it was too good to last, not only because of Moretti but also because of the rage, the almost primordial rage, that surged in each of them after childhoods of abuse and neglect and violence. They read to each other about ancient times of war and recognized themselves as denizens of the days when gods and heroes walked among mortal men.  Men who knew what it was to be warriors, who lived by a harsh and violent code. So they studied chess games, kept fit and always carried weapons and stashed money and bags at the train station, just in case.    
  
  



	2. A favor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their past catches up with them...

****  
A wise guy found them the very week Carl began to wonder if they could stop carrying guns everywhere and Anthony began to imagine, dubiously, whether beating a punching bag twice a week would be enough to contain his deep anger.    
  
“You,” said the man, Frankie, not too much older than they were.  Sent up to Canada as punishment for sleeping with a boss’s niece.  “You’re that brat of Moretti’s?”  Anthony only had time to be glad he and Carl had so much time together, because that was never the way for men like them. He waited for a bullet that didn’t come. Carl stayed put, fussing with carrots, and Anthony hung behind, wary and waiting, stacking up cans of olive oil.  “Took out three armed guys? You look like him at your age. I seen pictures.”  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Carl. “Do you want some carrots? They’re farm fresh.”    
  
The man laughed. “Whoever the hell you are, you’re a cool character, all right.”  He offered to buy a bunch of carrots, but Carl said they were on the house. Frankie laughed again when he left, and Carl quietly put the money into the till.  
  
“I don’t want trouble,” said the shopkeeper, giving them each a few bills. “You’ve been good boys, but you should get away from here. Far away. That man is no good.”   
  
That night, they stayed in a hotel and the next day, they asked around about Frankie, learning that he had gone back to New York, and discovering where he drank and took his meals. They worked their way back home more carefully than usual.  Carl cooked a special pasta. Puttanesca. They didn’t say much while they ate.  “Maybe we shouldn’t’ve come back here so soon,” said Anthony.   
  
“Maybe,” said Carl.  “But I won’t give up my home without a fight.”  
  
“We need more than one base,” said Anthony, laying a book on the table  _The Art of War_.  “Always have another way out.”  Carl sighed, giving in without arguing.  Then Anthony showed him a newspaper with places for rent circled:  a basement, an attic, a garage.    
  
“I want to make a nice home for you, Anthony,” said Carl, dismayed, taking Anthony’s hand.  “Nicer than this.”  
  
“Anywhere is a nice home as long as I’m with you,” said Anthony, squeezing Carl’s fingers. Tears rose in Carl’s eyes. “We can still come here. Just not every night.”  He stood and led Carl by the hand to a bed.  “I’m going to kiss you all over.”  
  
“I’d like that,” said Carl.  “Will you let me do you after?”  
  
Anthony gave one of his deep chuckles. “You’ve never let me finish yet.”  
  
A month later, Frankie found them in a dark bar, the kind of bar where no one noticed you were armed, drinking beers and playing darts. Anthony and Carl had helped the owner remove a couple of rough characters who’d knocked out their bouncer, and the bartender gave them beers for free. “It’s you again,” he said.  “I need a favor. It pays good. Real good.”  
  
“We don’t do favors for people we don’t know,” said Carl.  Frankie tried, and failed, to get the bartender’s attention.  
  
“You know me.  Frankie.  Lived up the street from you and your foster mom.”  Carl felt the blood go to water in his veins. “They said you were dead. But I heard you got away. From three of Moretti’s guys. That gets you friends in some places.” Frankie tried again to get a beer.  “Is this guy blind?”  
  
“I don’t know any Moretti,” said Carl, hoping that Frankie, who he recognized now, would keep talking.  One of those older kids who thought he knew everything. And got away with that because he was a superb soldier. Lithely brutal in a fight.  A thing of beauty to watch if you weren’t on the receiving end.  Carl flicked his eyes at Anthony, who nodded to the bartender and held up a thumb and two fingers.  “You want in on this round? If not, we got darts to play.”  
  
“Sure,” said Frankie, accepting a beer, thacking the darts into the board with a shocking accuracy that explained why the boss hadn’t just killed him and been done with it. “You look more like a Zambrone type anyway.  I don’t care who the f*ck you are.  They just want their smokes and I’m in a bind.  These frenchies won’t sell to me, but they seem to like you two. That grocer...”  
  
“You hurt him and you will regret it,” Carl said.  
  
Frankie’s face went dark, just for the instant it took him to realize that Carl knew he hadn’t hurt the kind man who had given them a job and all the partly rotted vegetables they wanted. Then he smiled.  “I don’t think you like me, but I like you. Loyal.  Man of honor.”  
  
“It won’t end here,” said Anthony when they talked it over later that night.  “With cigarettes.”  
  
“No,” said Carl.  “I’d hoped we could go away. Forget the past.” Anthony’s heart melted.  Carl was always the one who thought they could get out from under the shadow of the evil men who had sired them. But Carl’s boyhood home had been happy, at least until the day he came home and found his mother viciously stabbed to death in their battered kitchen. Anthony had learned a dark truth the evening he killed his father, one he hoped Carl would never know.  
  
“It will find us again,” said Anthony.  He didn’t mention the nights, the ones when Carl woke gasping and holding his throat. The first time, Carl had wept in Anthony’s arms, and Anthony had silently vowed to kill Moretti. “We got choices, but none of them are good.”  
  
Carl nodded.  “I had hoped our choices might be different, but we’re warriors.  Men from an older time. A brutal time.”  
  
****  
  
  



	3. The long game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three years later, Carl and Anthony find themselves in charge of a crew, when Moretti becomes a danger once again. Anthony takes care of business.

So they started smuggling cigarettes. And then other things.  Bruce handled their money and brokered his contacts.  Soon, they were millionaires, made rich by bubbles and insider trading, but they kept to the shadows, aware that Carl had a price on his head.  Anthony balked at dealing with prostitutes, especially the underage ones—his mother would never have approved of that—and Carl let him have his way.  They tried to stay small and only work with people they trusted, to keep to the shadows, but in three years, they had an organization. Big enough to need discipline and big enough to get noticed.  Then someone called Moretti and said Carl looked awfully familiar.  Anthony dealt with him quietly in the hour just before dark. 

Carl hadn’t asked any questions while he cleaned Anthony up, then rubbed his back and fed him a good dinner on special plates with decorated with flowers and gold edging. He’d bought two sets, new, but only the two because he didn’t want to be flashy. Anyone who saw them at home would have been surprised at their quiet, gentle conduct with each other. At the way Carl kissed Anthony every time he winced.  At Anthony’s open happy smile when he did.  At Carl’s indulgent wink when he realized that Anthony was wincing purposely.

“It’s getting too big,” Anthony said that night while they ate. “We’re not ready for all this.”

Carl agreed. “But we can’t be seen as weak.” 

“I don’t like killing.” 

Carl nodded. “It’s a necessary evil. We need to keep it that way. Evil. Only when necessary.”  Carl paused. “That’s where you got all these bruises.” 

Anthony shrugged. “I didn’t want you bothered. If we want to work our way back in, it may be time.”

“Next time talk to me first,” said Carl.  “I read that book you gave me.”

“And?”

“It might have been time to send a message.”

“I sent a message,” said Anthony.  “Don’t mess with my boss.”  

“I like it when you mess with me,” said Carl.  

“Don’t go changing the subject,” said Anthony.  “I think we need to move up. Give this business to Marco. Start up again, learn what else we need to know.”

“I know, Anthony,” said Carl.  He pulled a newspaper from his pocket.  “I bought you a garage and a loft.  Just to start.”  Anthony went still.  “There’s a car waiting a few blocks away.  It’s packed.”

“You packed?”  

Carl looked stricken at the accusatory tone.  “I wanted a last night. This was our first place together. No one knows where we are.”

“Let’s go,” said Anthony, grabbing his jacket, stuffing in the book and the paper. “Now.”  Carl didn’t move. “Please, Carl,” said Anthony. Carl grabbed a coat and a bag and followed Anthony down the fire escape, leaving the lights burning and the food half-eaten on the table.  As they started the car, they heard an explosion.  The newspapers would say it was a gas main, but Carl and Anthony knew it was the sound of destiny.

“I will take them out,” growled Anthony, as he steered away from the curb. 

“I thought you wanted to play the long game,” said Carl.  “I asked Marco for a meet. Dawn.”  Anthony grunted. “I’m sorry.  I should have told you what I was planning.”

“You don’t have to answer to me,” said Anthony.  

****


	4. Not a mark on him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anthony impresses the local wise guys.

  
Marco met them outside the city at a truck stop with a Tim Horton’s.  Gave them a sack of cash while Anthony bought coffee and donuts.  “Thanks for your faith in me,” he said, when Carl told him the business was his now.  

“You’ll hear we’re dead,” said Carl. Marco’s shock was genuine. “But I’d appreciate a cut.” 

“No problem,” said Marco.  He jerked his head and another sack of cash appeared in the hand of an older man with a broken arm and a black eye. The man moved back and Marco lowered his voice.  “I heard Benny got himself into some trouble.”

“I won’t argue about that,” Carl said.

“I’m not arguing,” said Marco.  “Guy was an assh*le. Heard he was skimming.  Joey here tried to reason with him a couple weeks ago.  Just got out of the hospital. The other two guys weren’t so lucky.” Carl’s eyes flicked to Anthony, who seemed preoccupied by carefully tearing sugar packets. “I don’t know who dealt with him.”

Carl nodded.  “Me either. Till the next time, then.”  Anthony hovered with a carboard tray holding two coffee cups. He saw Carl into the car, and handed him his coffee.  Marco stood and watched them drive off.  

Marco returned to his own car, where his best friend was waiting.  “You think he did it?” Marco sipped his coffee and bit into a chocolate donut.  “Took out three armed guys?  All bigger than him?”

“That’s what Frankie said,” said the friend. “But Frankie likes to talk.”

“And the other one took out Benny?”

“That’s what I think,” said the friend.  

“By himself,” said Marco in a flat, impressed voice. “There’s not a f*cking mark on him.”

“I know the families is the biggest game, but I’d keep my eye on those two.”

“Would you?”  Marco asked. His friend shrugged.

“Joey is a tough guy.  Tougher than me and Benny nearly took him out. You want me to get you another donut?”

“You send the other cars like I asked you?”

“Yeah.  They lost them.”  A car pulled into the parking lot and stopped by the trash can.  One of theirs.    Another car pulled up next to them and one of the guys punched Joey and got a broken arm for his trouble before realizing that he was one of theirs, too. “Found their place.  A basement. Looked nice.  One of them cooks.”

Marco nodded.  “Yeah. Another donut would be good. I’ve got to go meet Frankie.”  

Marco watched his friend go inside and drove off with a couple of the other guys. It wouldn’t do to get his best friend killed when he’d failed Moretti.   He found Frankie in a good mood because Benny had been dealt with.  It went less well when Frankie asked where Carl was. Marco said he didn’t know. One of the guys knocked Marco around, but they let him live.  Marco’s friend said it meant something, but he wasn’t sure what. Marco knew, well enough, that Frankie was establishing the pecking order. And Frankie didn’t blame Marco for letting Carl and Anthony go their own way.

A week later, Frankie found them at lunch.  “Never apologize for being loyal to your boss. Those two were going places.”

“Were,” said Marco.  

“I heard they got blown up,” said Frankie.  “Same night I showed you who was boss. Is that what you weren’t telling me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Marco.

“Good answer,” said Frankie. “We’ll get along real good.”  And they did until Marco’s friend tried to take over the business and wound up killing Frankie before Frankie’s guys killed him. 

****

 


	5. We're warriors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anthony and Carl leave their crew behind and start off fresh once again.

“You lost them?” Carl asked.  Anthony made a noncommittal noise.  They’d switched cars twice.  “Joey is one of Moretti’s,” Carl said.  Anthony tilted his head. He’d never talked if he could help it. 

Anthony changed lanes. “I rented us a cabin for a few days.” 

Carl took a sip of coffee. “A cabin?  Won’t people notice us?”

“I said you needed a quiet place to write.”

“What’s brought this on? Moretti?”  Anthony made another noise. “And what else?” Carl rarely pressed, but no one had ever tried to blow them up before.

“I had an idea about that kissing all over you won’t let me finish.”

Carl blushed.  They never talked about their sex life anywhere but at home, and even there, only rarely in more than whispered words in the darkness.  “It gets me riled up, just thinking about it, Anthony.”

“So how about I rile you all the way first?”

Carl wriggled and adjusted the crotch of his jeans to contain his suddenly throbbing erection. “If you want.”

“I do.”

“All right, but let’s not talk about it until we get there.”

“Ok,” smiled Anthony.  “You got a plan?”

“Not yet,” Carl admitted.  “I was expecting a few more days to think it through. We rushed out so fast.”  He stopped speaking, then unbuckled his seat belt and slid over closer to Anthony, who wrapped an arm around him and kissed his head.

“Scoot back over? You’re riling me up.” Carl scooted as requested.

At the cabin, Anthony carried in their groceries and then chopped wood for a fire while Carl took in the suitcases and busied himself inside.  Anthony came in, sweaty and glowing, arms full of wood, to the sight of pine paneling and the smell of cooking.  Their very first pieces of silverware and candlesticks were on the table. “There’s just a bathtub,” said Carl as Anthony started a fire and stacked more wood next to a sooty fireplace. Anthony looked back over his shoulder. “Dinner needs at least another hour,” Carl answered. Anthony hung his jacket on a hook and kicked off his shoes.

Carl set a hand at Anthony’s back, walked him into the bathroom and closed the door.  Steam rose from the water and a citrusy scent filled the air.  Anthony took this in while Carl unbuttoned his shirt, kissing his throat and shoulders, then pressed his face to the top of Carl’s head.   They undressed each other slowly, pressing their lips to each new expanse of exposed skin, until Carl touched his lips too close to a very old, but still-blackened cigar burn on Anthony’s chest. “Not there,” gasped Anthony, his voice breaking.  Carl looked up, perplexed.  “I don’t want…”  he stopped, swallowed.  “I…” His voice broke again and he looked at Carl, mouth working helplessly.  

“It’s all right,” said Carl, cupping the back of Anthony’s neck and pressing their foreheads together. “I’m sorry, Anthony. We’ll find someone to take care of it.”

“I never say it, but I love you,” Anthony’s voice was husky. Carl clasped him, hard.

“You say it every day,” Carl whispered.  “Every time you look at me. You saved my life.  Twice just this week. And you pretended to be selfish, to make it easier for me.” Anthony nodded. “It wasn’t for the kissing.”

Anthony went suddenly, painfully erect and Carl felt himself throbbing in response.  “I do want that kind of bad, though,” he admitted

“Let’s clean each other up and have some dinner,” said Carl.  Anthony took Carl’s hand and kissed the palm. They took their time bathing and made love again while their dinner cooked.  Anthony was tired after driving and chopping wood, so Carl made up a tray and brought it back to him.

“I won’t talk about this again,” said Anthony while they ate.  “We’re warriors, and we’re going to do worse things than we’ve done. Maybe evil things.”  Carl opened his mouth. “You blew up our home.”  Carl nodded.  “I’m in. Whatever you want to do, but I want you to promise one thing. Promise we’ll never go off mad at each other?  That the last thing we say to each other, when we’re alone, is always good.”  Tears welled up in Carl’s eyes and spilled over.  Anthony wiped them away with a thumb.  “Sorry,” he said.

“No,” said Carl. “That was beautiful, Anthony. You’re beautiful.”  Anthony flushed and looked down, embarrassed. Carl placed his palm against Anthony’s cheek.  “You’re the most beautiful thing in my life.”  He pressed his lips against Anthony’s forehead.  “I got you something.” 

Anthony looked up.  When they were boys, a new kid had come to the group home with a stuffed toy.  When some of the others made fun of him, Anthony had walked up and given a look. It cost him a beating from the staff.  Afterward, Carl asked how he was. Anthony just looked. “I had a teddy bear,” Carl offered.  Anthony had nodded. “Blanket. With satin edges.  I never seen anything so soft. I kept a piece, but it got lost in juvie.”  Carl had nodded and later snuck Anthony a candy bar he stole from a kid at school.

Carl unfolded silk satin pajamas in deep purple.  “I’m sorry about our flat,” he said, while Anthony smoothed the fabric with a hand. 

“I’m sorry I ruined our last night.”  But Carl flushed a deep red, and Anthony gave slow smile. “I guess that other night was our last…”

“It was,” said Carl.  “You want to try these on?”

“Maybe later,” said Anthony.  "I want to thank you proper first."

  
*+*+*  
Anthony would wear the pajamas until the seams split, and on the day he died, when Carl sent men to find what was left of Anthony’s body, they came back with a wallet filled with cash, a fake ID and a scrap of faded purple satin.


End file.
